2015-12-14

As I have mentioned multiple times in this blog, there has
been a large increase in the number of brewers in the world over the last 20
years or so. The increase has been fuelled by the so-called Craft Beer
Revolution, which started in the USA when a handful of people got sick of the
poor and bland selection of beers offered by a small number of massive
breweries that had aggressively bought up most of the competition. The new
breweries were often quite small, and thus called themselves microbreweries
(oddly, the obvious intermediate stage “millibrewery” was simply skipped). It
didn’t take long, however, for these microbreweries to grow quite big – former
micros such as Sierra Nevada now output more than 100 million litres per year.
This created the need for a new description of breweries that are genuinely
small – so please welcome me in raising a nano-Olympic-pool-sized glass to the
arrival of the nanobrewery, though apparently these are also getting bigger now
so I guess it won’t take long before the first picobrewery is opened.

An old friend of mine, resident in the fine city of Drammen situated
in the shockingly expensive (at least when beer is concerned) country of Norway
recently decided that his house contained way too few breweries, namely zero.
To remedy this very unfortunate situation, he invested in appropriate equipment
as well as various types of malt, hops and yeast – and started his own nanobrewery.
This, incidentally, is one of the few legal ways to avoid paying some of the
world’s highest alcohol taxes – the taxman in Norway has yet to start invading
private homes in order to collect about €0.50 per litre and also per alcohol percentage by volume that
you have to pay in the shops, bars and restaurants (for example, also including 25% VAT on
top, you pay about €2 only in taxes for a half litre of 5% beer). Anyway, my
friend also happens to be the type of person who takes his hobbies seriously,
so when he invited a select group around for a tasting session of his first 15
or so brews, I knew that this was the opportunity of a lifetime to taste some
of the best beers ever brewed in that particular house. I immediately booked a
flight, made sure to get a connection through Brussels, and sat down to twiddle
my thumbs.

A few days later the plane left on time with a thirsty beer
blogger on board. I stocked up on a Big Bottle of Belgian Beer in Brussels,
which I thought could serve as a baseline for what the pros typically achieve,
and flew onwards towards Oslo in a cute little jet (which should be called a
jetlet, I think). The next day, I rang my friend’s jolly-sounding doorbell at
the exact time specified in the invitation. Seldom have I been more excited
about a beer drinking session. Another great thing about my friend is that he
doesn’t waste time on small talk, so no words needed to be exchanged on
meaningless topics such as the weather, which incidentally was very rainy and
not at all like the winter weather used to be when I was young, back when we
had to shovel through about a metre of snow just to get to the front door
before even leaving the house, if we were LUCKY!

There were two beers on tap. The first one I tried was
called “Flying Penguin IPA”, which was, unsurprisingly, an India Pale Ale – usually a beer that most
brewers manage to not screw up completely. Full of beery anticipation, I put
the glass to my mouth, tilted, and poured an exploratory amount into my mouth.
I immediately knew that this could indeed be one of the finest beer tasting
nights of the decade. The beer was actually a bit darker than pale, and thus had a firm, malty
body – but best of all was the balance between the hops and malt. It was, simply put, very good.

A very good IPA from a very small brewery

As the evening progressed, we tried out the entire available
selection, all bottled, named and labelled with great care: the aforementioned
IPA, an American Pale Ale (“Thirsty Crow APA”), a Pils (“Pilsen Pils”), a
Bitter (“Humpty Dumpty”), a traditional Christmas Beer (“Evil Santa”), a Stout
(“Toxic Waste”), a Kölsch (“Drammen Kölsch”), a Belgian-style Abbey Ale (“Sacred
Prayer”) and two Oktoberfest-style Märzen (“For Fulle Mugger” and “Vinterøl”). Every single beer was true to its type, and with the exception of the
APA (which I suspect just needed a few weeks of maturation), they were all
beautifully balanced and either very good or excellent – these beers would have
been top notch even for a commercial brewery. Unfortunately, all good things
must come to an end, so I was probably quite sad to leave this splendid place,
though my memory was getting a bit hazy by then since we also tried out both
the Belgian beer and a bottle of Pilsner Urquell, purely for scientific
comparison reasons you understand.

A truly outstanding example of a traditional Christmas beer

So, what have I learned? First and foremost: beer remains
the finest drink on the planet, and the supply of this splendid drink keeps
being expanded in ways that favour drinkers who value taste, quality and
variety. Second, opportunities to taste a home-brewed range as splendid as this
one are as rare as a hen with a single tooth, and it’s an honour and a
privilege to have been allowed to participate in such an occasion. Third, home
brewing isn’t for everyone – the amount of time and money you have to invest is
rather large, and although the pleasure of drinking beer in Norway is
undoubtedly enhanced by the knowledge that not a single krone goes to the
taxman, it is not something you would do to actually save or make money.
Fourth, if you do decide that home brewing is worth pursuing as a hobby, then
it is possible to make excellent beer.

There is, interestingly, a trend for small groups of people
(typically known as “friends”) to gather together their financial and temporal
resources to invest. As quality keeps increasing, this could create an
interesting situation where more and more people who would otherwise buy their
beer in shops instead get all the beer they need for home consumption from
their share in their own little brewery. Currently, this would only work if
enough people were willing to take their turn at the wheel as it were, but it
will be interesting to see how this evolves, especially in a country like
Norway where the tax situation creates a real financial incentive. I shall stop
speculating at this point, but should I ever move back to Norway, well, suffice
to say that I may find a few kroner to invest. And on this note, I shall raise
a glass of German Glühwein to all the home brewers of this world, since I’m
heading out to the local Christmas Market. PROSCHT!

2015-11-21

What’s up with Greece then? Thousands of years after the
great minds of Aristoteles, Plato, Socrates, Archimedes, Euclid and a host of
other famous scientists and philosophers thought so hard that they pretty much
created civilization as we know it, there seems nowadays to be nothing other
than bad news about Greece in the average newspaper. Despite this, I figured that
any country where the road signs and newspaper headlines look like giant mathematical equations can’t be that bad and has to be worth a visit, so as soon as I found
a cheap flight I didn’t book twice.

The city of Thessaloniki is nicely situated on a massive bay,
a pleasant and scenic half-hour flight north of Athens. It’s surprisingly big –
apparently, more than a million people live there – but the central part is
relatively compact and, assuming you don’t mind constantly dodging cars and
motorbikes that seem hell-bent of running you over, it’s quite a pleasant place
to walk around. The seafront is especially nice – a great long walk next to a
busy road next to a seemingly infinite number of busy bars. There was certainly
not much sign of the Greek economic woes here – every drinking hole seemed to
be filled up with smart looking young people sipping cocktails, coffees and
perhaps even beer. Which brings me nicely to the main topic of this blog post:
beer.

The Greek beer scene has, apparently, been very sad, if not
tragic. Beer has traditionally been regarded by locals and tourists alike as a
golden, fizzy, ice-cold drink that doesn’t need to taste anything as it is
thrown down the gullet to quench a sudden thirst, so the selection in bars and
restaurants usually boils down to either “beer” or “no beer”. Therefore, it was
with very low expectations that I googled “the best beer bar in Thessaloniki” when
I arrived at my hotel. Imagine my delight, then, as the first result that
popped up was a recently opened place called “The Hoppy Pub” that had managed
to receive an amazing number of glowing reviews on the Ratebeer.com web site.
Needless to say, I wasted no time, since time is money, and the last thing
Greece needs is someone wasting time not spending money in their bars.

The pub is not hard to find if you know where it is, so I
figured out where it was and walked there at a brisk pace, avoiding both the
temptation to be distracted by other pubs and bars along the way and the hordes
of cars and motorbikes that tried to run me over. Once there, I located the
door, opened it, and went in. The scenery inside was simply wonderful. Along
the bar were 12 taps, each of which contained a fresh, interesting craft beer.
Along the walls were craft beer bottles, posters and other beautiful
decorations reminding you of, well, beer. Behind the bar were a bunch of
fridges containing an amazing selection of craft beers from around the world.
If beer was religion, this would be the place to worship. If beer was music,
this would be Greece’s best concert hall. If beer was more than just a fizzy,
cold, tasteless drink, this would be the place to drink it.

I like to try the local stuff if it doesn’t look too awful.
Greece is not a big country, so I decided that any Greek beer would be local,
especially since I had already travelled about 2000km that day in order to
drink it. I therefore asked the bartender, who happened to be a very friendly
and knowledgeable guy, what Greek beers he’d recommend. “Ah”, he said, “I’ve
got this IPA from a brewery called Septem which is very good – nicely hoppy and
fresh, yet balanced and sophisticated”. It felt a bit like I had won the
lottery, though since I’ve never won the lottery I may have to recalibrate this
sentence once I do. The bartender then proceeded to do what all good beer pubs
should do, namely offer a taste. It was great – a really good IPA, worthy of
comparison with the best.

It turned out that the bartender (who was also part owner)
was a real Greek Beer Geek (henceforth simply GBG), and there aren’t many of
those. The Greek scene is still lagging behind some of the more enlightened (in
the beery sense) parts of Europe, but things seem to be slowly changing, with
new GBGs emerging from the shadows all over the country. Furthermore, there
seems to be a Europe-wide network of like-minded geeks – my bartender’s
favourite brewery turned out to be Haandbryggeriet from my home town Drammen in
Norway, so we had plenty to chat about. I managed to try a couple more local
beers on tap too, a Red Ale from the same brewery, which was
also excellent, but the evening’s highlight was an unfiltered Pilsner-style beer
from a brewery in Crete which had unusual, but absolutely wonderful hops, no
skips and just a hint of jumps. I’m pretty certain that this was probably the
best 3rd beer I’ve ever had.

The best pilsner in Greece

My final beer was a bottled beer, and
at this point the GBG produced the ultimate GBG tool, namely a bottle opener
that did not bend the cap so that I could bring it undamaged home to my
collection! Never have I felt more at home in a pub. I was practically ready to
move in. Unfortunately, though there was a good supply of popcorn and other
beer snacks, I got hungry.

The final beer, opened with the best bottle opener known to mankind.

Thessaloniki has hundreds of places to eat, but I decided to
try only one, in fact the one conveniently situated about 20 metres from the
beer pub. This turned out to have great Greek food, and since I was in a great
Greek mood I decided to have another Greek beer. The selection was,
unsurprisingly, very limited, but they had at least avoided the foreign crap
(Amstel) that seems to get shipped to Greece by the boatload, probably because
the Dutch themselves don’t want to drink such rubbish, and offered a beer from
the interestingly-named brewery “Fix”. The beer was actually OK too, with a
decent hoppy taste.

OK, time to start wrapping things up, it’s only a few weeks
to Christmas after all. The Greek craft beer scene exists, but you have to do
some research (the internet helps) to find it. Once you do, you’re likely to be
surrounded by a bunch of very friendly GBGs that are happy to talk about
anything as long as it’s related to beer. If you can’t be bothered and decide
to just order the standard Mythos, Alfa or (Bacchus forbid) one of the Dutch
imports, you’ve missed out big time, especially if you’re in Thessaloniki. I
read somewhere that the Michelin guide defines a three star place as “a
restaurant that’s worth an entire trip by itself”, and that’s exactly what I
would say about The Hoppy Pub. Yes, it’s that good. I’d suggest going for a few
days, or perhaps even make it a full Greek Beer Geek Week. The airport code is
SKG, and the bus into town costs 2 euros. See you there! Στην υγειά μας!

2015-10-15

Scotland is a country that far too many
people regard as merely a part of something else. The worst offenders are the
ones who somehow think of it as a part of England. This is a bit like saying
that France is part of Spain, or that chicken is part of Turkey – it’s not just
wrong, it’s so wrong that anyone who says such a thing deserves a tender
Glasgow kiss. Others may regard Scotland as a part of Britain or the United
Kingdom, both of which are true – at least until the next time Scotland votes
for independence – but it would be a mistake to assume that this means that
Scotland is not a proud nation with a long and turbulent history of its own, and
a culture, mindset and dialect that differ distinctly from other
English-speaking peoples that live south of various borders.

Scotland was for many centuries completely
independent – even the Romans gave up trying to conquer this remote country – and
fought many wars with their arch enemy, England, before somewhat unexpectedly
entering into a political union with the very same enemy about 300 years ago.
Before that time, the royal crown of the two had been united through the
English adoption of the Scottish Stuart king, James VI, who then became better
known south of the border as James the FIRST. These little oddities persist to
this day – the current Queen is commonly referred to as Elizabeth the Second,
but since the first one was never queen in Scotland, many Scots will insist on
referring to her as Elizabeth the First.

There are many stereotypes associated with
Scotland, from anything to do with men wearing heavy woolen skirts known as kilts (and not much underneath) to
barren, windswept mountains, rugged coastlines, heavy whisky drinking and caber
tossing, the latter being a sport that involves throwing an entire tree trunk as straight
(distance apparently does not count) as you can, making sure it flips at least
once so that it does not land on your own toes. What isn’t currently a stereotype is Scotland
as a fantastic place for beer lovers, so it was with curiosity and anticipation
that my lovely wife and I boarded the flight that would take us to Aberdeen one
warm and sunny July morning.

Scotland - green, remote, scenic - and sometimes even sunny!

Arriving in Aberdeen was a little bit of a
shock to the system. Central Europe had been basking in a sunny heatwave for a couple
of weeks, so when our plane finally emerged from the cloud over Scotland only
to find that the distance between the rain-soaked ground and the cloud was
about 5 metres, we knew that the shorts and sunglasses we had carefully packed
at the top of the backpack would perhaps not be urgently needed. What I had
forgotten to pack was, of course, a rain jacket – a schoolboy error if ever
there was one. First stop, then, was the shopping centre conveniently located
next to the bus station where they had a fantastic selection of wet weather
gear at exorbitant prices. Apparently, demand is high.

Our mood was not at all affected, though,
because I had already from the airport bus spotted one of Scotland’s main
tourist attractions – the original and first BrewDog pub. For those of you
unfamiliar with BrewDog, here’s a little bit of background: In 2007, two
industrious gentlemen (and their dog) decided to bet everything they had
(including the dog) on the beer revolution, which was starting to take off at
that point (unlike the dog). However, instead of doing what most other budding
brewers in Britain did at the time, namely brew traditional beers only in
smaller batches, they tossed the rulebook (but not the dog) out the window and
started the process of redefining what beer is about. Borrowing some ideas from
the US craft beer scene, they quickly started brewing beers that pushed the
boundaries of taste and decency, and they also came up with some interesting and
adventurous concepts in marketing. Fast forward 8 years or so, and BrewDog is
the most successful brewer of craft beer in the UK, with more than 20 own-brand
bars, significant export and a turnover in excess of 30 million pounds. Does
this mean that they’ve become one of the big bad boys? We set off to find out.

One of Scotland's finest tourist attractions

We rolled into the BrewDog bar around 2pm
and found the place pleasantly full of people and beer. They had 8 or so of
their own brews on tap, and 5 or 6 guest brews, all of which looked really interesting.
Beware, though, that if you’re a die-hard cask beer fan and the first thing you
look for when entering a pub is the number of hand pumps, you will be
disappointed – all beers are dispensed pressured. Although I personally like
cask beer as well, I have nothing against the slightly colder and fizzier beers
dispensed with the help of some CO2, so I went ahead and bought the beer
sampler, which included 1/3 of a pint of 4 beers of your choice. These are then
placed on your sampler tray in order of alcoholic strength, typically between
5% for the weaker ones up to perhaps 12% for the humdingers. You can also buy a
tiny sample of the whopping 41% beer they made for the latest installment in a
tit-for-tat beer strength contest with the German brewery Schorschbräu, which
was given the less than politically correct name “Sink the Bismarck”. Their beers
vary in quality, but since the scale goes from “very good” to “amazing” this
wasn’t much of an issue. To top it off, the pub has board games instead of TVs
and therefore a lovely atmosphere, so it was with heavy hearts that we had to
leave to catch the ferry to Orkney.

This sampler was worth a trip to Aberdeen

Orkney is a group of islands situated
immediately to the north of the Scottish mainland. It is Norwegian territory,
having been “settled” by the Vikings in their own unique and charming way a
thousand or so years ago and then pawned to Scotland by some retarded Danish
king in 1468 for 50,000 Florins, so I felt very much at home. The locals are
very friendly, the scenery fantastic, the summer temperature marginally above
freezing, and the rain less horizontal than in winter, so there really was
nothing to stop us from having a great time. However, this fantastic situation
improved dramatically when we entered the first pub: I discovered that Orkney has
not just one, as I had anticipated, but TWO great breweries, thereby
unexpectedly doubling the amount of drinking I had to do. However, as the old
saying goes: it can’t be a coincidence that there are 24 hours in a day and 24
beers in four six-packs, so I grabbed a stash of cash and got down to business.
The beers were simply great. The most famous one is called “Skull Splitter”,
apparently named after some Norwegian Viking gentleman who acquired this
nickname from his tendency to use his axe to settle arguments conclusively, and
this was a barley wine that certainly hit the mark at the top of my head.
However, the outstanding beer is one called “Dark Island”, a wonderful dark
concoction of roasted barley, coffee notes and the mystery of what goes on in the
dark winter evenings up on these remote islands. All in all, the two breweries
had around 20 different beers and every single one we tried was very good. The
final bonus: some beers were available both bottled and from the hand pump,
allowing the

lucky drinkers to choose between the fridge-cold and slightly
fizzier version and the cellar temperature, smoother version.

This is Stromness in Orkney. They had beer there too.

The biggest disappointment in Scotland was the
fact that the Scots themselves don’t seem to like their own beer very much.
After the holiday I attended a conference in Glasgow, and at every social event
there was beer on offer… from Italy, of all places. Now there are good beers in
Italy as well, but they don’t send those to Scotland, no Sir, they send
mediocre ones that are, if my memory serves me right, called Craponi and
Crapetti. These are then presented to the thirsty hordes at truly astronomical
prices. The main problem, I think, is that Scots nowadays are so polite that
they smile stiffly and force this stuff down instead of doing the sensible
thing, namely to start a riot – and thus, this travesty is allowed to continue,
at least until the majority of the population has read this blog post.

Well, it’s time to come up with some kind
of conclusion before I start rambling on in ridiculously long sentences that
simply go on and on without actually containing any sort of sensible
information that you may or may not find moderately interesting or
entertaining. My advice is unambiguous: go to Scotland and check this country
out for yourself – unless your idea of a holiday is to lie at the beach, slowly
letting the sun cook your own flesh whilst sipping sickly sweet drinks with
tiny umbrellas in them, I think you’ll have a great time. There’s also that
other famous drink, in Scotland referred to as whisky (or “a wee dram”), which
is also worth sampling – it is, after all, just distilled beer (without hops)
that’s been allowed to slumber in a cask for a dozen years or so. And, oh,
lots of historic sights, great scenery, good (if perhaps a bit wet) mountain
walks, friendly people and fantastic pubs. Did I mention that you can also find
very good beer? Good! As the Viking probably used to say: Skull!

2015-08-01

Beck’s is Germany’s best-known international beer brand with
availability in more than 90 countries. It has for a number of years been owned
by the biggest brewing behemoth on the planet, namely AB InBev, a company that
brews more than 45 billion litres of beer per year (almost 7 litres per living
human being), has a turnover in excess of US$47 billion (about the same as the
gross domestic product of Lithuania), and generates more than US$15 billion in
profit for its shareholders. Not surprisingly, the company has a reputation for
bland beers, cost cutting, buying and shutting breweries and other such shameful
shenanigans. Therefore, many beer lovers (myself included) try to avoid their
products, preferring to spend our hard-earned money supporting brewers that
care more about taste and quality. However, as I was browsing the beer shelves
in my local supermarket the other day, I failed to avoid noticing that Beck’s
have jumped on the Craft Beer Bandwagon (CBB), launching three new beers on the
market: an amber lager, a pale ale and a “traditional” pilsner (called “1873
pils” in reference to the year that Beck’s was originally founded), and providing the consumers with a very handy 3-pack containing one of each, making the purchase process very smooth indeed.

Needless to say, I saw it as my sacred duty to you, the
faithful readers of this blog, to purchase one bottle of each of these and
conduct a tasting session, to save you from having to go through this potentially
costly and painful experience yourselves – and so it came to pass that last
night a few weeks ago, I opened said three bottles and poured them into a glass with a minimum
of pomp but an appropriate amount of circumstance. The first one out was the
1873 Pils, and it poured nicely – as you would expect, it left the bottle
willingly once I had remembered to remove the bottle top and tilted the bottle
the required amount, and since I had cunningly positioned the glass underneath,
nothing was spilled. There was some head, which is always nice, though this
disappeared disappointingly quickly, which on the positive side gave me a
golden excuse to drink the beer faster. On the nose, the beer felt wet and a
little bit fizzy, but once it found its way down my gullet it revealed a fair
amount of taste. Where most German pilsners from the north are quite dry and
hoppy, this one was malty and had a touch of sweetness. Certainly not
unpleasant, but not something to write a poem about either, except possibly a mediocre
limerick.

It's pils as it was back in 1873, apparently.

Next up was the Amber Lager. Some of my favourite lagers are
amber and some of my favourite ambers are lagers, so I had high hopes that this
would be one that would make its forefathers in Vienna proud. Unfortunately, it
was on the bland side. Not unpleasant, just lacking something – a bit like a
bee happily buzzing around pollenating some fairly attractive flowers, but
knowing in its tiny little heart that if it had only found an extra “r” it
could be a beer instead.

Don't underestimate the power of the amber side.

Finally, there was the Pale Ale. This had more hops and
certainly a more flowery sort of taste, though this was also miles away from
some of the finer interpretations of the style both in terms of the overall
attack on the taste buds as well as the subtler aspects. However, credit should
be given for a decent effort – it was quite drinkable, and I finished the whole
bottle without having to force anything down. I could go on about notes of
freshly mown grass and lightly used badminton rackets, but for some reason such
descriptions never enter my head whilst drinking, only when I sit down
afterwards to write about a taste I have long since forgotten… so I won’t.

It's pale and presumably ale, but is it pale ale?

In confusion, this was an eminently forgettable, but
nevertheless not unpleasant drinking session. My prediction is that these beers
will disappear from the market as suddenly as they appeared, and looking at their web site just now this is exactly what seems to have happened – the focus is
back on the standard pils and the crazy mixtures they concoct up there in
Bremen, like beer mixed with lemon, lime and other citrus fruits that really
should go nowhere near a decent brewery’s drink portfolio. Never mind – Beck’s
marketing department probably has an idea or two on how to continue to
contribute healthily to AB InBev’s profits, and they don’t need my help, even
though I’d be happy to provide expert advice for a very reasonable 10% cut.
Meanwhile, I shall shift my attention to other parts of Europe – I have
travelled a bit lately, which has enabled me to expand my beery horizons even
further. In other words – stay tuned. As they say in Thailand despite the fact that I haven't been there for 20 years: Chok dee!

2015-06-15

If you’re a seasoned traveller in Europe, you probably have
a fair idea where both France and Switzerland are situated on the map, and you
may even know that these two countries in German are known as “Frankreich” and
“Schweiz”. What may come as a surprise to you, though, is that a large section
of what is technically Bavaria doesn’t like to call itself Bavarian at all –
rather, the proud inhabitants call this region “Franken”, in English referred
to as “Franconia”, and a sub-section of this even calls itself “Switzerland” –
or “Fränkische Schweiz” in the native tongue. Sounds complicated? Well, at
least there’s a pretty solid reason for you to find this place on the map and
book your next holiday immediately because this, ladies and gentlemen, is the
region with the highest density of breweries in the world. Furthermore, these
are not just any breweries, these are old, family-owned small breweries that
soldier on in tiny villages, serving the local population and a handful of
tourists with some of the best beers known to mankind.

The natural focal point for beer lovers in Franconia is, of
course, the city of Bamberg. This city is so charming and pretty that every
other city in Europe effectively ends up looking like a rubbish tip in
comparison. It also has a crapload of breweries and it is the spiritual home of
the “rauchbier”, or smoked beer in English, a beer style that for beginners may
come as a shock since it tastes suspiciously like bacon, but for those who like
this sort of thing is just about reason enough to move there. However, Bamberg
has become rather touristy of late, so if you want to head off the beaten path
you should rent a beer-friendly vehicle like a bike or a toy tractor and head
off eastwards towards Switzerland (as it were).

When you arrive there, it’ll be immediately unclear why it’s
called Switzerland since it looks nothing like its bigger (and much more
expensive) sister country to the south. There are a few hills and some rocks
sticking up, but no banks, no holey cheese, no yodelling and not a single
referendum in sight. However, unlike the other one, you’re not unlikely to
accidentally crash your bike or tractor into a brewery, because there are
several of these on every street corner. Well, that was a bit of an
exaggeration, but there are literally a couple of hundred dotted around an area
not much bigger than a relatively small section of Belgium.

Once you’re there, one great way to explore the region is to
park your bike or tractor and proceed on foot. There are several beer trails of
varying lengths that coincidentally lead you past a brewery every kilometre or
five, where you can stop for suitable refreshment. One of these is simply
called the “Brauereiweg”, or “Brewery Way”, a very simple and ingenious name
for a 13km long countryside walk that crashes into four very nice little
breweries along the way. The great thing about the walk is that you can sober
up a little bit between breweries, the great thing about the beer is that it
makes the walk so much more fun, causing people to break into song, cow-tipping
and other shenanigans along the way.

The Kathi-Bräu in Franconian Switzerland

Then there’s the beer. Oh, the beer. My talent for waxing
lyrical falls light years short of the kind of celestial celebration I would
like to write in its honour, but I will attempt it nevertheless. Picture Bach,
Beethoven and Mozart getting together for a little jam session where they would
combine their talents to compose the greatest symphony ever written, and
picture listening to this in the most beautiful place you can imagine, such as
a particularly nice pub. That would perhaps come close to the sensory
experience of taking a sip of one of the beers that these breweries make. OK,
perhaps this was slightly exaggerated and somewhat influenced by the sensory
enhancing effects of the beers themselves, but you get my point. There aren’t
many places in this world where you can drink better stuff, and you can perhaps
even remove the “m” in “many”, though I have not been everywhere yet so I can’t
be sure.

Another brewery, another beer.

For those of you who may wonder what the beers are like from
a more down-to-earth point of view, I also have some information. First, there’s
no Pilsner and second, the lightest beer colour you’re likely to see is amber.
Most of the breweries brew only one or perhaps two beers, and the main one will
be the style known as “Landbier” or “Vollbier”. These are malty, yet very well
balanced brews that are full-bodied without being sweet, refreshing without
being tart, and served cold without being frosty. Make sure that you order the
brewery’s own beer on tap (“vom Fass”) – they may also stock some bottles from
well-known national brands just to cater for those who think McDonald’s is a
restaurant.

As if by magic, we came across yet another brewery.

As mentioned, there are many brewery walks in this region,
and it is possible to do circular, triangular, square, straight and gay walks
spanning anything from a couple of hours to several days. Some breweries even
offer comfortable lodging, and if you can distract yourself long enough from
the singing and cow-tipping whilst walking, you may also appreciate the scenery
which is pleasantly rural with rolling hills, river valleys and occasional rocky
parts where you may decide to climb up, fall down and kill yourself unless you
bring a rope, in which case the rope may save your wife. Enough rambling (no
pun unintended), the conclusion is simple: this is a great region for beer
lovers, and you should make a pilgrimage at least once (a year). Explore
Bamberg first, then rent the aforementioned bike or tractor and head towards
Switzerland, do a few walks, drink some great beers, meet some new friends, say
goodbye, meet the same new friends at the next brewery, and so on. You can’t go
wrong, there are signs everywhere and it’s really confusing. As they say in
Mongolia: Tulatsgaaya!!

2015-02-10

January’s one of those months that seem to just zoom by in
some kind of a blur. It always tends to start off on a great note – together
with old friends for a great party, good food and beer, and a superb atmosphere
as the clock strikes midnight. Unfortunately, the rest of January usually doesn’t
follow up in the same vein, so the fact that we’re already in February is quite
OK – the days are getting longer and what the Germans call the 5th
season – carnival time – is just around the corner. Loads of opportunities to
drink good beer, in other words.

The reason I sit down here feeling inspired to write a blog
entry is something that did happen in January, though: together with a couple
of old friends from university, I went skiing in the Austrian Alps. This was
very nice in its own right, but these great chaps had also thought further
ahead and bought a few great beers from the duty free store as a gift for yours
truly. And therefore, since the beer blogger always tries to
acknowledge free beer by posting some ramblings on the internet about it, I will acknowledge the generosity of my friends by posting some ramblings on the internet about it.

One of the first and also most successful micro-breweries in
Norway is called “Nøgne Ø”. You may think that this name has a lot of zeroes or
other strange characters in it, but the letter “ø” is actually the 28th
one in the Norwegian alphabet. It’s quite simple: you take an “o” and you slash
through it, and you get something that’s pronounced more or less the same as
the vowel in “turd”. The brewery’s name translates simply as “naked island”, presumably a nudist's paradise, and their slogan is “the brewery that does not compromise”, presumably by refusing to wear clothes even in winter. These days their "no compromise" attitude rings a little bit hollow since they allowed themselves to be bought out by a big brewery
multinational, but their beers are still very drinkable even though the brewery
is situated in a place called “Grimstad” which means simply “ugly town” in
Norwegian - a corresponding name in the English-speaking world may be "Shitville" or "Crapton". They don’t lie when they say that Norwegians tend to get straight to
the point.

Once you go black....

Today’s beer was the “Imperial Stout”. Imperial, no less!
Defined by the internet as “relating to an empire” – I guess only “global”, “solar
systemal”, “milky wayal” and “universal” would trump that. It is also
interesting since Norway is one of the few countries that have never been part
of an empire, even though the empire did strike back in Norway when they filmed
it up in the freezing mountains back in 1980. This beer is black. In fact, it’s
so black that it seems that it sucks the light out of the room, like a black
hole. It’s also very thick – like crude oil with a head, only much more
expensive and, hopefully, better tasting. And tasty it was – a full frontal assault
on the taste buds, delivering massive amounts of firepower to make you
instantly forget whatever else you had been tasting that day. In fact, it’s got
notes of every single taste you’ve ever come across except apricots and
aardvark droppings, so even though the beer was great there’s clearly room for
improvement. I hereby confidently predict that they will release a “Universal
Stout” later this year that will have notes of every single taste known to man
and/or woman (and/or his/her dog).

So, what else is going on? Germans have a great way of
saying this: “was ist los?” Which just goes to show that not all German words have
17 or more letters in them, unlike “Dampfbierbrauerei” which is a great little
brewery in Oberstdorf, way down south in the Bavarian Alps. We went there to do
some skiing, but since it got dark conveniently early we also managed to fit in
a couple of hours in this fantastic place where you can sit at the bar and look
at the staff dispensing huge amounts of beer that has been brewed in the kettle
situated just behind the bar. The brewery is right next to the train station,
so if you’re somewhere in Europe you can always think of these great beers as just
a train ride away.

Well, the effects of the Imperial Stout are slowly wearing
off, so inspiration is turning to tiredness, which means that I better wrap
this post up before I start yakking on about things that nobody really cares
about, like trees. Don’t get me wrong, I love trees, especially oak, which is one of the most suitable trees for making oak barrels in which you can mature beer. But you see my point, this
is a beer blog and not a tree blog, so I’ll try to stick to that. Finally, I
wish you all a great beery 2015, or at least what’s left of it. As they say in
large parts of East Africa: Maisha marefu!